


Heart Notes

by BronzedViolets



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Bonding, First Time, Knotting, M/M, No mpreg, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, Porn With Plot, clear consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BronzedViolets/pseuds/BronzedViolets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When Sherlock’s fragrance finally begins to bloom, it is a citrus top note of orange blossoms over a woodsy base note of sandalwood. The simple two note scent marks him as unbonded. It is pure and incredibly alluring but lacks the complexity of fragrance that would be found in a bonded pair."</p><p>Sherlock and John discover that maybe they want the same thing after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart Notes

**Author's Note:**

> If you don’t know what the Omegaverse is I beg you to PLEASE look it up first before reading… I do not think I am up to explaining that one…
> 
> Extra points to you if you can spot the part inspired by Mark Gatiss’s novel.
> 
> Feel free to follow me on Tumblr for my mostly safe for work blog. I am BronzedViolets there too

Sherlock storms up the stairs in a towering rage and flings the flat door open with enough force to smash the knob into the plaster. John makes a mental note to patch up the dent tomorrow before Mrs. Hudson sees it.

Although Sherlock's natural Omega scent is blunted by suppressants, John’s sensitive Alpha nose can still detect a strident note of distress over the familiar woodsy citrus fragrance.

For once it was him that had acted impulsively and Sherlock was the one who was beside himself. John had to admit he was surprised and a little awed to see the reaction.

Before John has even had a chance to hang his coat up on the peg, Sherlock is shouting (again) and pacing to and fro across the sitting room like a caged animal.

“John you can’t ever do that to me again. Do you understand? _You can’t_.” Each phrase is punctuated by him tugging at his own hair so hard that John winces in sympathy.

Trying to inject as much calm into his voice as possible, John slowly steps forward, arms raised as though to gentle a spooked horse.

“Sherlock, it’s all right…”

Sherlock brushes past him and resumes his aggressive pacing.

“That thug had his hands around your neck John. If I had not come back when I did you would have been killed.”

“You did come back you utter berk, I had already shot him! I don’t see what the problem is. I am fine. It probably won’t even bruise.” 

“You don’t understand John, when I heard the gun go off I thought… you could have…”

Sherlock trails off, a blankness sliding over his features that long experience has taught John to recognize as a sojourn to the mind palace. The contrast between the utter stillness and the hurricane of a moment ago is so startling that when Sherlock explodes into motion again, John is caught completely off guard. 79 kilograms of consulting detective hit him like a freight train and he goes down hard onto the Persian carpet, Sherlock on top of him.

“Sherlock what the hell are you doing? Get off of me you lunatic!”

Sherlock does not stop, but instead begins to vigorously rub his head against John’s chest and arms.

John roughly shoves him off and staggers to his feet, breathing heavily and more than a little confused.

“What in Christ’s name are you doing Sherlock? Are you scenting me? Did you miss your suppressants today, is that what this is about?”

“Listen to me John! I did not miss my suppressants.  I need this. I just got that Beta stench of Mary off you. I mean really John it was revolting, she smelled like distilled water and a boarded up room, but now you smell like him and blood and _it is wrong_!  You are supposed to smell like me. You are mine.”

Sherlock freezes, clapping his hand over his mouth in a way that under any other circumstance would have been comical.

John feels his proverbial hackles raise and he makes himself take a few deep breaths before he trusts himself enough to speak. Still his voice trembles with restrained emotion.

“Is that what you think of me then?” Visions of Moriarty calling him Sherlock’s pet sours his stomach and he feels the shadow of tears prickling the corner of his eyes.  John turns away with every intention of stomping off up the stairs but Sherlock stops him with a surprisingly desperate grip on his arm.

“Wait John, don’t go! I understand that you are not looking for an Omega. I promise I won’t mention it again, let’s just… forget this happened?”

Sherlock's voice is so small, such a shadow of its usual brash baritone, that it takes John a beat before the meaning of the plea snaps into focus.

“Oh God Sherlock, how long have you felt this way?” John chokes out, his voice cracking a little.

“Honestly? I think it started the first time I deduced you and you called me brilliant.”

“You think?”

“It did not know for sure until Moriarty. When I figured out that if I did not fall he would kill Lestrade and Mrs Hudson and you John… I realized that if it meant saving your life I would have jumped for real.”

“Oh Sherlock…”

John reaches out to brush his cheek but Sherlock is already turning his head away with such a beaten-dog look that John’s heart physically aches.

“Look at me Sherlock.”

Sherlock hesitates and then slowly tilts his head back to meet John’s eyes. Every line of his body telegraphing that he is braced for rejection.

“Listen to me Sherlock. When you asked me ‘Afghanistan or Iraq’ I knew that I could fall in love with you. I don’t know when I did but when you jumped, I .. uhh.. knew that I had. Then you were back and I was with Mary and then after it just..um.. never seemed like the right time. I mean how do you tell someone who is ‘married to their work’ that you have been in love with them for five years?”

“What exactly are you saying John?”

“I am saying why don’t we go lie down on your ridiculous 1,000 thread count sheets and you can scent me properly, then we can talk.”

“Don't be ridiculous John, you can’t fit more than 400 threads on a loom without using thinner inferior cotton fibres. My sheets are Pima cotton with a thread count of 280. I tested them myself and they are preferable.” 

John can’t contain a snicker as the two of them make their way to Sherlock’s room and its scientifically proven superior sheets.

***

Once they are across the threshold, Sherlock wastes no time as he strips John down to his red y-fronts, flinging the ‘tainted’ clothing away viciously. He then efficiently strips himself down, pausing to fold each piece neatly on the chair, until all he is wearing is a pair of black silk briefs.  With steady hands he pushes John down into the centre of the bed and begins the scenting process again in earnest. Sherlock starts at the tips of John’s feet first, huffing soft breaths over them with a little whuffling sound, eyes squeezed shut and mouth slack with pleasure. 

“Mmm, cedar and oakmoss.” 

He rumbles contentedly to himself before lazily rubbing John’s feet with his chin and neck where the oil from his own scent glands was most concentrated.  He repeats the process on the other foot before moving methodically upwards inch by inch. By the time he reaches mid-thigh John is getting dizzy and his cock is so hard it hurts. He is sure that the intensity of Sherlock's scent is increasing.

“Sherlock… I.. It’s not that I am not enjoying this, I umm obviously am, but is this safe?  I know suppressants only work so well and if you keep doing that and breathing in my pheromones you could end up triggering a false heat.”

The look Sherlock gives him is withering. 

All John can manage in response is a meek “oh” before Sherlock resumes his exploration. In an act of supreme cruelty Sherlock bypasses John’s groin all together and John is sure it is his punishment for being so slow on the uptake. When Sherlock gets to John's chest, he redoubles his efforts, smearing himself against John’s skin and occasionally licking and worrying at the spots that apparently still held traces of the other man’s scent. His cock is hard, bigger than average for an Omega, and John can feel the heat of it through the thin silk pants. The sight makes his mouth water, and John aches  to just flip him over and take his own turn licking and scenting but he knows this is what Sherlock needs, and alpha or not, John is going to give this to him. 

When Sherlock’s fragrance finally begins to bloom, it is a citrus top note of orange blossoms over a woodsy base note of sandalwood. The simple two note scent marks him as unbonded. It is pure and incredibly alluring but lacks the complexity of fragrance that would be found in a bonded pair.

John is panting now, his erection huge and throbbing, both hands fisting the sheets in an effort to keep himself from just reaching out and _taking_. Sherlock is not unaffected either, his skin has dewed with sweat, and his hair is a riot of curls. His posh black pants are moulded to his cleft, sodden with the slick that has accumulated between his legs.

“Sherlock” John begins gruffly. “If you don’t want this to go any further you have to tell me now.  One word from you and I will go upstairs and take an  army grade suppressant and have a lovely wank, or two or three. But you have to tell me _now_ because honestly I don’t know how much longer I can hold back. If I stay, _I am_ going fuck you, and then I am going to knot you and I am going to bite you and you are going to be stuck with me.”

“Oh John, I can’t think of anything else in this world that I could want more.” 

“Are you sure?”

In lieu of an answer, Sherlock peels off his sodden pants with a cheeky grin and falls to his hands and knees, back arched downwards in the formal posture of submission to a chosen mate. His swollen vaginal opening is clearly visible, nestled in the scrotal folds behind his cock, roughly where a labia would be on a female Omega.

“Oh God Sherlock…” John can not get his own pants off fast enough and he hears one seam give way before he can finally free himself from the constricting garment. His cock springs up, massive and red, the base even duskier marking the spot where his knot will form.

John takes in a deep breath through his nose savouring the scent of arousal and Sherlock’s unique fragrance. He can’t help but follow the scent up the curved line of Sherlock’s spine to the pinkening skin over his bonding glands.  He begins lapping and tasting while Sherlock squirms and groans, attempting to rock backwards onto the hard cock behind him.

“John, no teasing, put your cock in me already. I need it.”

John is tempted to keep licking and sucking but when has he ever been able to deny this man? The thought that Sherlock is offering himself not just as a friend and partner, but as his Omega, is dizzying. The urge to bite and claim rises up in him with an intensity that he had never imagined. Giving one last hard suckle, he pushes himself up on to his knees. Resting one hand over the fine latticework of scars on Sherlock’s back, John slides his cock-head over the rim of the slick hole. Sherlock gives a violent shudder and keens, the citrus musk of omega ejaculate rising in the air so thick that John can almost taste it. He feels his knot give a hard throb. It is already starting to swell and he had not even penetrated him yet.

“Oh God Sherlock, did you just...”

“Yes, and so help me, if you do not put your cock in me this second I will murder you and make _Mycroft_ help me hide the body.”

With a deep growl, John hastily lines himself up and slowly eases his cock in as gently as he can. 

“Oh God Sherlock, I am inside you, I am inside you with my cock.”

He pulls back a little to give an experimental thrust and is rewarded by a breathy gasp. Sherlock pushes backwards, attempting to meet him thrust for thrust, spurring John on with a litany of ‘John’ ‘harder’ and ‘just like that.’

John takes a firm hold of Sherlock’s hips and starts pounding into him with a relentless rhythm, fucking deeper and deeper into that hot channel. 

He can tell almost to the second when Sherlock begins slipping under the haze of heat and his breathy commands segue into something more primal. 

“Please John, please take me, breed me, John...please.”

The last rational part of John knows that the likelihood of conception occurring during a false heat is almost nil but the scent of Sherlock is intoxicating and all he can think is “yes, yes, anything for you.”

John feels his knot swell further, catching on the rim on each thrust and sending sharp jolts of pleasure skittering up his spine with every pump.

Sherlock, who John always thought would outlive God trying to have the last word, is unable to do anything but moan. He is sweating freely now and the bonding glands on the back of his neck have swollen into perfect crescents, one on each side at the juncture where nape meets shoulder.

Seeing Sherlock like that, completely abandoned to the pleasure of the flesh is more than he can take and John loses himself fully into rut. With a sharp thrust he forces his knot past the last ring of resistance and Sherlock gives a hoarse shout, his internal muscles contracting violently around John’s knot as he comes, clear semen painting the sheets beneath them. 

John feels his balls draw up hard to his body as he rocks forwards in tiny rabbit sharp thrusts, his knot locking them together.

His voice is a rough growl.  “Oh God Sherlock, I am going to come, I am going to come inside you, I am going to fill you up with my pups.” 

Driven by a millennia of evolution, John snaps forward and sinks his sharp canine teeth right into the gland on the left of Sherlock’s neck. As the coppery blood floods his mouth, his orgasm hits him like a tidal wave; all he can see is Sherlock, all he can smell is Sherlock and all he can taste is Sherlock. He distantly feels Sherlock shuddering and coming again beneath him. 

When he finally comes back to himself,  he and Sherlock have rolled onto their sides and John is gently licking at the new bond bite, his cock still hard, knotted to his Omega. The air is filled with their mingled scents, the high notes of citrus and oakmoss woven together with the low notes of cedar and sandalwood, united by the heart notes of amber.


End file.
